


Don't bite the hand that feeds you

by Havokftw



Series: A wolf and a kitten walk into a bar [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bickering, Booty Calls, Cat/Human Hybrids, Catboys & Catgirls, Courtship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, First Time, Gift Giving, Interspecies Romance, Knotting, M/M, Mating, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Scenting, Shapeshifting, Werecats, Werewolves, Wolf Seungcheol, kitten jihoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-23 23:22:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14343105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Havokftw/pseuds/Havokftw
Summary: And if he’s being honest, Seungcheol’s not interested in maintaining a distance either because Jihoon’s a fascinating ‘Felid’ species Seungcheol’s never had an opportunity to see, and he’s genuinely curious about him.He tries not to let that curiosity get in the way of his work, but Jihoon seems reluctant to socialise with him outside of work so, really, Seungcheol has no choice but to openly stare at him at work.Jihoon notices of course, and shoots back withering looks that seem to say, ‘I’m on to you’, like he thinks Seungcheol might, at any moment, urinate at the corners of his desk or something.Felids are fiercely territorial it seems.





	Don't bite the hand that feeds you

The first time they meet, it’s Seungcheol’s first day with the firm.

“Hi, I’m Choi Seungcheol, pleasure to meet you. I’m new and thought I’d introduce myself to everyone.” Seungcheol says politely, shaking Jihoon's hand, his mouth a wry slant; and Jihoon, a second slower on the uptake, spits out, “This is my territory—fuck off!”

Which is absolutely an awful thing to say to the newly hired junior associate, but Jihoon has very good reasons.

Seungcheol doesn’t seem to share these reasons, because he just stands there, slack jawed, blinking in astonishment, “I’m sorry, _what_?”

Instead of answering, Jihoon storms off.

It’s not a strategic retreat or anything, he just needs to clear his head for a bit because his new co-worker is a fucking _Werewolf_.

Despite their terrible introduction, Jihoon manages to temper himself before the 10am board meeting.

He sits through an entire briefing, burning with anger, and pretends he can't feel Seungcheol's gaze lingering on him with pointed interest.

Seungcheol corners him later that week in the break room.

“How’d you know I was a werewolf?” He says, as casually as though he has this conversation all the time. “What are you?”

Jihoon can feel his shoulders tense, “I thought you could tell. You were _staring_ at me—”

Seungcheol shakes his head. “I was staring, but only because I've never smelled anything like you,” he says, and again, his calm, casual tone lends a surreal aspect to the conversation. “It's ... _different_.”

“I'm ... I'm a Felid,” Jihoon manages to spit out, glaring, as if daring Seungcheol to comment.

“Interesting,” Seungcheol says. He's staring at Jihoon with unreserved interest, his gaze hot and intense for a few second.

Then he relaxes.

“I don't have to be your enemy, Jihoon. I’m just here to work, just like you.” he says finally. Then he walks away.

Somehow, it turns out that way anyway.

* * *

 

Of a surety, Jihoon’s shifting peculiarities have landed him in worse situations than sharing an office with a Werewolf, even if it doesn’t always feel like it.

Certainly nothing beats going through puberty and realizing that while all your friend’s bodies are changing, yours is doing so in quite _unexpected_ ways.

“Mum—,’ Jihoon began, stepping into the kitchen one day, “My body...is _changing.”_

“Of course, it is Jihoon.” She rinsed out the cloth in her hand and turned a warm smile to him. “That’s perfectly normal. You’re growing up, and your body will change in many ways. It happens to everyone. They should have taught you about this in school by now.”

Jihoon’s shoulders slumped, self-conscious. “They did—but they never covered this kind of change.”

His mother’s smile faded away when Jihoon turned wordlessly, and shoved his trousers down enough to show the patch of fur at the base of his spine, the long tail trailing down his leg.

“Oh my god, Jihoon” she said, low-voiced. “Have you told anyone else?”

He stood momentarily mute, uncertain. Her voice grew sharp. “This is important, Jihoon. Have you shown anybody at all?”

“No, it just happened last night.” He blurted, wringing his hands together awkwardly.

She breathed out, her smile reforming in relief. “Oh, thank god.”

Jihoon had a dozen questions to ask her - more than that, closer to a hundred probably - but he found himself tongue-tied, unable to do anything other than widen his eyes beseechingly.

“You won’t talk of this to anyone else.” His mother spoke quietly, but firmly.

Then she sent him to his room and the following day his parents pulled him from school and informed him he was to be home schooled from then on.

It did nothing to help him feel normal—but he quickly accepted it was for the best to keep it secret.

It was only many years later, when he left home for college did Jihoon realise there were many others like himself. Not kittens exactly, but cat, dogs, birds, reptiles—every animal under the sun hiding in plain sight.

* * *

 

As first impressions go, Jihoon doesn’t paint a good one.

Or a second one.

He’s lovely to look at, certainly, and smells like a freshly baked cupcake, but he’s sharp, and unyielding and clearly unimpressed that he has to share his office space with Seungcheol.

Seungcheol tries to stay out of his way to begin with, but it’s difficult when you work in the same office and have to collaborate on occasion.

And if he’s being honest, Seungcheol’s not interested in maintaining a distance either because Jihoon’s a fascinating ‘ _Felid’_ species Seungcheol’s never had an opportunity to see, and he’s genuinely curious about him.

He tries not to let that curiosity get in the way of his work, but Jihoon seems reluctant to socialise with him _outside_ of work so, _really_ , Seungcheol has no choice but to openly stare at him at work.

Jihoon notices of course, and shoots back withering looks that seem to say, _‘I’m on to you’_ , like he thinks Seungcheol might, at any moment, urinate at the corners of his desk or something.

Felids are fiercely territorial it seems.

* * *

 

At first, Jihoon spurns projects with Seungcheol whenever he can.

It isn't just that the other man is obnoxious and brash and annoyingly competent. It's that his mere presence grates against Jihoon like a physical force, making him bristle, pushing him away.

Judging by the dark looks Seungcheol is constantly levelling at him across the office, the feeling is mutual.

Still; they’re on the same career path and both up for promotion soon, so they end up paired together on several projects whether Jihoon likes it or not.

Mostly not.

Seungcheol’s a brilliant lawyer and his confidence is just on the right side of cocky to be charming, so naturally he takes the lead in most projects and is the senior partner’s _favourite_ for this promotion.

Jihoon’s always been a team player, knows that working together for the greater good is necessary sometimes yadda, yadda, yadda...but the idea of Seungcheol succeeding over him _rankles_ , and Jihoon can’t help but shoot down a lot the ideas he brings to the table.

Even the genius ones.

At first, Seungcheol is pretty accepting of the criticism and rehashes several of his ideas based on Jihoon’s “feedback”.

His accommodating mood shifts soon enough, when he notices Jihoon is being critical for the hell of it, and begins to bite back.

It doesn't surprise Jihoon when he hears, eventually, that they've developed a reputation for fighting like cats and dogs—since, in a sense, they _are_ those things.

They wage war on all mediums: sniping at each other face to face, over the phone, via email, text, hastily scribbled post it notes left on each others desks. They’ve had glaring matches across boardroom tables, across office spaces and memorably, across bathroom cubicles that one strange time.

But despite all that, Jihoon has yet to see Seungcheol _shift._

He doubts that he ever will, as Seungcheol manages to remain cool and collected in most situations, even during periods of high stress when Jihoon feels himself creeping to the edge.

The only glimpse Jihoon gets that proves Seungcheol's keeping a caged animal at bay happens once.

In retrospect, it was the day before a full moon, when all shifters have a tenuous grip on their transformations and become more hyper-aware of their surroundings.

They’re crossing the t’s and dotting the I’s on their latest collaboration when Jihoon snaps his laptop shut in frustration and Seungcheol startles and then _growls_.

When Jihoon turns his head towards the noise in surprise, he sees it.

Seungcheol’s eyes have shifted from their usual dark brown to bright gold, and his hair isn’t dark black and slicked back anymore. It’s shorter and rougher, and in the dim light Jihoon could swear it’s a silvery grey.

The shift doesn’t last more than a few seconds, and the next time Jihoon blinks Seungcheol has returned to normal, and is looking right back at him, wide-eyed.

Thankfully nobody else in the office had been paying attention, but Jihoon’s not surprised when Seungcheol calls it a day soon after.

* * *

 

“So where are you from originally?” Seungcheol asks one afternoon.

It’s lunch and they’re the only ones left in the office, and Jihoon clutches his chicken sub a little tighter when Seungcheol saunters over to his desk.

“Busan.” He answers quickly.

“Ahh, I thought I detected a hint of an accent.” Seungcheol grins, taking Jihoon’s answer as permission to round the desk and perch himself on the edge. “I’m from Daegu myself. What brought you to Seoul?”

“Better opportunities, better pay, change of scenery—you know, the usual.” Jihoon says with a shrug. “Why did _you_ move from Daegu?”

Seungcheol gifts him with a grimacing little smile, sharp canines chewing into one of those plump, distracting lips. “Somebody figured out what I was—and didn’t handle it too well. Didn’t have much of a choice actually. But, it worked out for the better. I’m really enjoying it here now.” He says, waving a hand at their surroundings

“Oh. Erm—I see.”

Seungcheol sidles closer—too close, their sleeves have no business touching like that. “So—do you know of any _other_ shifters?”

Jihoon hesitates, does his best to read past the gleam in Seungcheol’s eyes. “No.” he finally says and relaxes a little when Seungcheol nods amiably.

“Just me huh? Well—I know a few wolves like myself, my dental hygienist is part human—part peacock or _something_ , and I once saw two guys transform into _Lions_ during a fight. But I’ve never seen a kitten before,” Seungcheol smiles, leaning in close to Jihoon’s ear, “Till I met you.”

Jihoon shivers, hairs rising along the back of his neck and tail curling in his pant leg, invoked by Seungcheol’s hushed voice.

“I—I’ve never met another kitten either.” He murmurs.

“Really?” Seungcheol blinks. His brow furrows thoughtfully. “That must be lonely.”

Jihoon shakes his head, looking away briefly. “Not really. I’m used to it.”

Seungcheol’s silent for a beat, then he leans in close again to ask, “Have you ever shifted all the way before?”

Jihoon snaps his head up, squints at him suspiciously instead of answering. He’s made a point of telling Seungcheol as little about himself as possible, and he’s not looking to change that.

They already seize every opportunity they can to demean and embarrass each other—but just because Jihoon has the decency not to go around telling people about Seungcheol's unique _affliction,_ doesn't mean Seungcheol is similarly inclined. Jihoon has no desire to arm him with any information that _might_ at some point be used against him; possibly in public, in front of the senior partners for instance.

“Is there a problem?” Seungcheol asks when he notes Jihoon’s silence and his squinty expression.

“Why do you want to know?” Jihoon snaps.

Seungcheol tilts his head at that, considering. The look in his eyes is far too focused for Jihoon’s comfort. “Because we work together Jihoon. We’re collaborating on a lot of cases together and we share an office. I’ve been here six months and I don’t feel like I know anything about you.”

Jihoon wrinkles his nose. “I think you know enough.”

There's a wry tilt to Seungcheol's mouth, the beginnings of a smirk. He remains sitting at the edge of Jihoon’s desk a minute longer, before shrugging.

“Have it your way.” He says, jumping up and heading back to his own desk with apparent unconcern. 

 _Good_ —Jihoon thinks, tucking into his lunch again. Hopefully Seungcheol will take his persistent silence for the dismissal it is and never speak to him again.

Although, that thought is so unexpectedly upsetting that Jihoon promptly shoves it to the back of his mind.

* * *

 

Today it turning out to be a day from hell, and it’s only 11:00 am.

Jihoon has already sat through an hour-long breakfast meeting to discuss the failure of his most recent case with the senior partners, and survived the morning with only a slight headache from frowning too much. The breakfast spread they had on hand was abysmal; the coffee had been cold, the orange juice warm, and the pastries had passed fresh sometime in the distant past.

But when he arrives at his desk, there is a fresh, piping hot cup of tea on his desk, made the way he likes it, and the freshest donut he has ever smelt. It’s still warm and the glaze is still cooling, like it has been baked especially for him and whisked straight from the oven to the paper bag on his desk.

Jihoon is rightfully suspicious as he examines the offering. He isn't used to surprises—not pleasant ones, at least—appearing on his desk.

He doesn't have much time to consider his secret benefactor, although he savours the donut through the rest of the day. It somehow makes it seem more bearable, especially when he has to sit opposite Seungcheol and his insufferably smug grin the whole time.

Jihoon doesn’t know what Seungcheol’s got to be so happy about. It’s not like anyone left _him_ a donut on his desk.

 

* * *

 

Seungcheol’s learning a lot of things about Felids he never knew, all from studying Jihoon _not so_ secretly.

They’re neat, organised, borderline aggressive, punctual and a little obsessive compulsive over their possessions. It all makes for an adorable little package he can’t help but appreciate.

Jihoon keeps a tab of everything he owns with the use of a billion little stickers, everything from his stapler to his coffee mug is carefully marked. They’re especially possessive about their food and Seungcheol knows better than to try and interrupt Jihoon during his lunch again. The small scratch on his arm is hardly noticeable but it serves as a warning; _Don’t touch my food._

Seungcheol’s always been a sharer—it’s in his nature. Which is why there’s nothing strange about him picking up an extra sandwich or coffee or snack when he’s out of the office and leaving it on Jihoon’s desk when he’s not looking.

Okay—maybe it’s a _little_ strange that he does it for Jihoon and nobody else in the office, but that’s not the point. He doubts he’d get the same pleasure from watching anyone else react to his gifts like Jihoon does anyway.

And besides, Jihoon is significantly more agreeable when he’s had something to eat. If it’s a choice between paying extra for the specially cured meats at the deli and going across town to pick up the best donuts or a full day of sniping and scowling – well, Seungcheol is willing to part with the cash for Jihoon.

* * *

 

There’s another sandwich on his desk today. Roast beef this time.

Jihoon prefers chicken, but he’s not about to turn his nose up at a free sandwich gift. He glances around the room carefully before approaching the sandwich, then pokes it—in case it’s explosive.

It appears to be safe for consumption. He unwraps it and tucks in, deciding that roast beef is almost as good as chicken.

He soon notices Seungcheol is watching him from across the room, possibly envious— _no_ —just plain envious of his delicious roast beef sandwich. Jihoon glares at him as he eats, appropriately conveying the message: _this is my sandwich, get your own._

Seungcheol just smiles back and takes a bite of his own sandwich. He has a sandwich too—with the same translucent deli wrapper as Jihoon’s….

Oh.

Jihoon doesn’t want his sandwich anymore.

But it’s too late—he’s eaten it.

* * *

 

The next time Jihoon finds a sandwich on his desk—he doesn’t open it.

He’s had enough of this little game.

Instead, he stomps over to Seungcheol’s desk, wearing a neat little scowl he has spent ages perfecting, coupled with clenched fists and a pout. It is a look that says, very clearly, _"I am about to claw your eyes out"._

It has never backfired on him.

But instead of panicking, Seungcheol just watches his approach, his grin not losing an inch of swaggering ridiculous confidence.

Jihoon stops at the foot of his desk, points at him accusingly and says, “Why do you keep buying me secret lunch? Huh?”

Seungcheol eyebrows rise a fraction, innocent and wounded.  “Because I like you.” He says simply.

“Oh.” Is what Jihoon says, instead of ‘ _fuck you’_  or ‘ _how dare you’_  or _‘you think you’re so funny—but you won’t be laughing with this hot coffee on your face’_ or any of the other hundred responses he’d planned because he’d prepared himself for an argument, a fight, not— _this_.

He manages to wipe the shocked expression off his face to stammer back. “O-okay then. Keep—keep up the good work.”

Seungcheol’s answering smile is warm and soft. As is the look in his eyes, which sets off all kinds of reactions in Jihoon.

He ends up returning to his desk on shaky legs, knowing his face is flushed red right up to his ears, and he hates that, hates looking less  _together_  than someone he is fighting with.

Even though that wasn’t a fight, exactly.

He ends up eating the sandwich—because it’s _there_. It’s on his desk, taking up space and the only way he’s getting rid of it is to eat it.  

He doesn’t enjoy it. (It’s delicious.)

* * *

 

Bad enough that Seungcheol should know his condition just by sniffing him, that he continues to bait him with snacks and treats left on his desk, but when the Werewolf finds out about Jihoon's tail—Jihoon braces himself for the blackmailing of a lifetime.

It's a mistake, really, on Jihoon’s part.

One too many drinks at the office party means Jihoon doesn’t have the coordination to piss and keep his pants up at the same time. So when Seungcheol waltz’s into the bathroom when Jihoon’s just finishing up, the discovery of an extra, furred appendage where an appendage _shouldn't_ makes him quirk an eyebrow.

Jihoon hisses in surprise, scrambles to hide it and rushes away before Seungcheol can speak.

He leaves the office party early that night, and waits for the call, email, letter from Seungcheol that threatens to derail his career if he doesn’t comply with Seungcheol’s demands.

The blackmail never comes, but only presumably because he has sufficient material on Seungcheol as well?

Jihoon’s not sure, but he hates the uncertainty, the feeling of being backed into a corner over something he has no control over.

He likes his job and he knows he deserves a promotion, but he doesn’t want to bet his little secret on ever getting it now.

* * *

 

Jihoon has a tail.

An elegantly thin, pretty, grey and black tabby tail, dotted with small flecks of white. Seungcheol saw it in the bathroom right before the guy hissed at him and skedaddled.

Seungcheol still doesn’t know why he did that. It’s not like he has anything to be ashamed of.

So what if he has a tail?

Seungcheol has one too, except he never really sees his unless he’s wolfed out, so he was understandably a little startled to see Jihoon’s tail just _chillin_ out of his pants when he was unshifted.

Jihoon’s done a fine job of keeping that little secret hidden for so long.

Seungcheol wonders how uncomfortable it must be keeping it tucked away; he knows how irritating it is to keep his ears smoothed back and out of sight, and he imagines it’s even more awkward to hide a tail down your pants all day.

Seungcheol’s doesn’t think too much of their altercation in the bathroom that weekend, but when he arrives to work on Monday to find out Jihoon has withdrawn his request for the promotion, he _knows_ it’s because of the tail.

Jihoon’s clearly worried Seungcheol’s going to divulge his little secret, use the tail against him for his own nefarious gain—which is just plain insulting when he thinks about it. But it’s the only logical explanation for the withdrawal, and for the sudden shift in Jihoon’s attitude towards him. The kitten is minimally responsive to his barbs all day, quiet and sullen, keeping his head down at his desk and avoiding eye contact.

When this behaviour rolls on into the next day, Seungcheol takes matters into his own hands and as the office clears for lunch, he corners Jihoon by his desk to stop him from fleeing.

“Re-apply for the position.” He says, fixing Jihoon with a pointed look.

Jihoon blinks at him, “What?”

Seungcheol’s jaw clenches, “You withdrew your name for the promotion—I want you to re-apply.”

Jihoon pinches the bridge of his nose, mouth set in a thin, unhappy line. “I _can’t_. I don’t want....Why do you care anyway?”

Seungcheol rakes a hand through his hair. “This is about your tail isn’t it?” He says, his voice regaining a measure of patience. “You think I’m going to use that against you? _Really_? Do you really think so little of me?”

Jihoon shrugs, “It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s used what they know about me, against me. I’ve worked really hard to get here, I didn’t want to lose my job.” His voice has changed, gone soft and terrified.  

Maybe that’s what makes Seungcheol take Jihoon’s hand, bring it up to his hair to touch one of his wolf ears he keeps tucked under his slicked back hair.

He means it as a gesture of trust. He means it as proof to himself, to Jihoon, that he doesn’t have to be afraid, and that they may be different species but essentially they’re going through the same struggles. He doesn’t mean for it to send a burst of warmth all the way down his spine to his dick, which aches and twitches in his pants.

“Oh my god.” Jihoon gasps, fingers brushing over the dense fur of the ear, scratching gently. “How...how do you keep them hidden so well?”

“I wanted to ask you the same about your lovely tail.” Seungcheol huffs a soft laugh at his shocked expression. “See—I know what it’s like Jihoon. And even if I _didn’t_ —I wouldn’t do that to you.”

When Jihoon’s hand stills, his eyes come to level with Seungcheol’s again, knowing. “Thanks, Seungcheol.” he says, cheeks flushing. “I’m sorry, I’ve just had to be so careful my whole life, it’s hard to trust anyone again.”

Seungcheol jerks his chin up, “You don’t have anything to apologise for, I understand. Just re-apply for the position. _Please_.” He says firmly.

Jihoon pouts. Just a little. Then he nods. “Okay.”

* * *

 

After that, they settle into an arrangement that’s both reasonably productive and tolerably civil.

They still argue, of course. Newfound trust and respect aside, Jihoon is a man of very strong opinions, many of which happen to be completely wrong, and so they fight it out over everything from past cases, to the promotion, to new legislation and the ethics of cross examining children in court – and once, heatedly, the best spread to have in a roast beef sandwich.

Jihoon is still wound up about that one the next day, until finally Seungcheol can’t stand all the glowering and resorts to buying the sulky shit’s forgiveness with chicken teriyaki and a package of whiteboard markers.

“To replace the ones you through out the window when you were aiming for my head,” he explains.

“You’re still wrong,” Jihoon says, but he’s dimpling magnificently, and he makes good use of Seungcheol’s gift fifteen seconds later when Seungkwan ignores his emphatic suggestion to quit snickering at them and mind his own fucking business.

* * *

 

For once, Jihoon’s pleased to have been proven wrong about something; Seungcheol actually turns out to be a really nice guy.

They don’t become super chummy over their shared ability, of course.

Far from it.

Jihoon still doesn’t like talking about his ‘gift’, as Seungcheol puts it, but he finds that he’s completely at ease in Seungcheol’s company.

Well, maybe not  _completely_.

There’s a giddy, tense buzzing sensation just under his skin that leaves him hyper aware of every move and sound that Seungcheol makes. But for the first time in a long time, Jihoon isn’t in a rush to leave his space and flee.

And although he has no real idea where this blossoming friendship with Seungcheol is going to lead, he’s certainly excited to find out.

* * *

 

Today Seungcheol picks up an extra coffee on his way back from lunch; two shots, no milk, no sugar—just how he’s seen Jihoon take it.

When Jihoon returns to his desk and finds the coffee, he does his customary petulant glare in Seungcheol’s direction before picking it up.  

Absorbed in the (no doubt extremely tedious) report, Jihoon sips distractedly at his coffee and pulls a face. It’s there and gone, a fleeting grimace of distaste – the kind of look normally inspired by some of Seungcheol’s livelier fashion choices – but it’s enough for Seungcheol to be struck by a sudden flash of insight.

Jihoon doesn’t like black coffee.

It could be something else, of course. Perhaps the coffee is too cold, or the wrong brand, or brewed too strong. All equally possible explanations, but Seungcheol knows that he’s right, instinctively.

Jihoon doesn’t like black coffee, and yet he drinks it by the litre, always has done, as long as Seungcheol has known him. Probably he picked up the habit so nobody could accuse him of being a giant shape shifting cat, and now he’s either grown used to it or thinks it makes him look tough or something. But the adorable little bastard doesn’t even  _like_  it.

Seungcheol doesn’t realize he’s staring until Jihoon shoots him a curious look and asks, “Did you need something?”

“You,” Seungcheol says pointing, “are a ridiculous human being.”

Jihoon gasps, then pointedly turns away to shuffle noisily through his folders in a way that is no doubt meant to indicate how very little time he has for Seungcheol’s bullshit. He’s flushing bright red, from either embarrassment or irritation, or possibly from a lifetime’s worth of pent-up coffee-related disgruntlement.

“ _Ridiculous_ ,” Seungcheol mutters under his breath, and goes to fetch his coat.

* * *

 

“Your coffee’s in my way,” Jihoon says mildly, eyeing the single shot, chocolate and hazelnut Frappuccino with extra whipped cream _abomination_ Seungcheol has deposited on his desk.

“So move it,” Seungcheol says. “And it’s not mine.”

“You put it there.”

“For _you_.”

Jihoon frowns, brow furrowing, confused and a bit suspicious. “But you already bought me coffee.” He says, gesturing at the old cup sitting on his desk, still half full.

“That’s before I realised you don’t like it black,” Seungcheol says. He grabs the old cup and promptly dumps it in the trash, then pushes the new cup towards Jihoon “Just drink it Jihoonie. Nobody is going to get suspicious just because you have a little whipped cream in your coffee.”

Jihoon still looks wary, but he obediently raises the cup for a cautious taste, eyes closing briefly as he considers.

“Well?” Seungcheol prompts.

“This is disgusting,” Jihoon says. He takes another sip, though, and the flash of a pink tongue darting out to lick the cream tells Seungcheol all he needs to know.

* * *

 

Hiding his tail and limiting his milk based produce consumption isn't the hardest thing Jihoon has to deal with as a shifter. No, there are more difficult obstacles in his life. Although Jihoon is certain this particular one, at least, is a secret Seungcheol has no knowledge of.

 _Heat_.

It's a damnable Felid custom that makes him loathe his own traitorous body.

When it happens, it hits him like a fever—exactly like a fever. He feels hot, uncomfortable in his clothes, and every time somebody touches him on the arm or the shoulder he feels a cold shock ripple through him.

It's an itch, prickling, spreading over his body, and no amount of friction can soothe his itching skin. No ice can settle the burn. Everything looks sharper, smells more intense. He's flushed, constantly, unable to keep his mind on his work, unable to think about  _anything_  except the urge to scratch the intolerable itch—to _mate_.

Under normal circumstances, a Felid would find one of his kind, track their scent for miles if they had to, and mate with them. Over and over, until their sexual appetite was satisfied. But there are no others of Jihoon's kind—male  _or_  female—that he knows of, and so he normally ends up in a bar, picking up the most receptive man or woman drunk enough to forget any physical oddities they might see in the dark.

It’s never really satisfying, but it takes the edge off and makes it pass faster. Jihoon will take what he can get.

When he  _can't_  have sex throughout the entire period—it's unbearable torture that drags over a week.

Normally Jihoon can plan for it, book holiday or call in sick and seclude himself for the week-or-so that it lasts. But when he feels the first heat flushes this time round, he’s in the middle of a case, finalising the legal paperwork for an important client’s project.

Desperately, he weighs his options.

He’s working with a small team, just him and Seungkwan and Jisoo, and they're on a tight deadline so he can't afford to be distracted; the job depends on his contribution. Thankfully, Seungcheol’s off work all week on vacation, so the office will be free of anyone who could notice something amiss.

 _Seungcheol would keep working, in my place_ , Jihoon thinks, slightly more resentful than is becoming. Of course, Seungcheol doesn't have to account for the same details that Jihoon must; and therein lies the resentment.

So, Jihoon decides to continue working, certain he can manage.

He sheds his waistcoat, rolls up his sleeves, and literally sweats through the first day, gritting his teeth and trying not to bite Seungkwan's head off when he asks for his opinion on a few details.

Late at night, he goes back to his home, strips off, and rolls himself around in the bedsheets, trying desperately to rub away the burning, prickling, itching sensation in his skin while he jerks himself off. He finds release in his hand, but it's barely satisfying, and the fever isn't quenched at all.

This goes on for the next three days.

Jihoon's nearly mad by the end. He's borderline manic all week, flushed constantly and so uncomfortable it's painful.

What the fuck was he  _thinking?_   Why is this more unbearable that it has ever been before?

He wonders frantically to himself how he could ever have gotten through this sexless before, because right now he needs to get laid so bad it  _hurts_.

* * *

 

On day four, Jihoon is so overheated he has to change his shirt three times before he can leave for the office. He’s running 15 minutes late when he finally arrives and is in such a rush he walks right into a brick wall as he rounds the corner.

A brick wall that smells like after-shave and leather and _wolf_ and definitely wasn’t there yesterday.

As he goes sprawling on the ground, he notices that it’s not a magical brick wall that has appeared in front of him—but _Choi Fucking Seungcheol—wearing_ a sharp black suit, aviator sunglasses and an absolutely  _hideous_  grin of satisfaction as he holds a hand out in aid.

Jihoon, whose senses are all aflame, breathes him in before he can stop himself and suddenly wants, quite badly, to climb him like a tree and hump him.

Wait—where did _that_ thought come from?

Jihoon freezes, every muscle in his body tensing.

 _It’s Heat_ —he tells himself— _It must just be the heat._

He has to force himself to relax before he accepts Seungcheol’s hand and lets him pull him up.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. He manages to make it come out confused, at least, rather than rude or sarcastic.

Seungcheol just keeps on grinning, “Didn’t they tell you? They’re bringing me in to help with the case. Jisoo’s called in sick and the deadline is non-negotiable. I wouldn’t normally cut my holiday short, but the second they said _you_ would be here—I was on the next plane.” He says with a salacious wink.

Caught off guard, Jihoon stalls. In a very awkward, obvious way. “Oh—uhm, no. They didn’t. I mean, erm—thanks….for coming back. Good to have you on board.”

Seungcheol raises both eyebrows at him, higher and higher the longer Jihoon spins out. “Are you okay Jihoon?”

Jihoon feels his mouth go a little dry, but he nods and wipes the sweat off his brow and trying to pretend that he isn't, in fact, doing so.

“So—just arriving? Not like you to be running late.” Seungcheol chirps.

Jihoon scowls and meets his eyes, which turns out to be a mistake. Seungcheol has pushed the sunglasses down over his nose and is peering at Jihoon over them, and the amusement sparkling there is more than a little distracting.

Jihoon, for once, is actually  _too annoyed_  to pick a fight.

He's too hot, too exhausted, too desperate, and so he just says, “I—I know,” and walks around him. But not before seeing a slight look of surprise on Seungcheol's face.

When he reaches the office, Jihoon makes a beeline for the water cooler and downs five cups of water before taking a sixth to his desk. He gets to work immediately, sorting through his notes from the previous day, but pauses when he notices Seungcheol is _still_ standing there.

Seungcheol’s just looming at the foot of his desk, gaze fixed on Jihoon more intently than is comfortable.

“Why are you just standing there?” Jihoon observes tersely, when after a few minutes Seungcheol still hasn't budged.

Jihoon can see Seungcheol's nostrils flare slightly before his eyes flash.

“Why do you—” After a quick look over his shoulder, Seungcheol drops his volume, overly conscious of the people around them. “You smell different, did you know that?”

Jihoon can feel heat rising in his face, no doubt making him even more flushed than he was to begin with. If this isn't the most embarrassing—

“It's not a bad smell,” Seungcheol says, still in the same low, soft voice, obviously only for Jihoon's ears. “It's just ... _different_.”

“I really don’t have time for this Seungcheol,” Jihoon says stiffly.

If Seungcheol can't identify the pheromones Jihoon knows he's putting out, Jihoon sure as hell won't be the one to enlighten him. “If you’re officially back from vacation I suggest you get to work. Seungkwan can use some help—he’s been bothering me all week.” He says, gritting it out.

There must be something about his voice or face that convinces Seungcheol he’s serious, because after a moment Seungcheol straightens, gives him an apologetic smile, and leaves.

When he joins Seungkwan on the other side of the office, Jihoon hears his own name, and then Seungkwan’s scoffing reply, loud enough for Jihoon to hear: “Oh, yeah, he's been like that all week. I swear to god you’d think he was PMSing or something.”

“ _Is that so_ ,” says Seungcheol.

Jihoon hunches over his desk and stares determinedly at his laptop, knowing full well that his face is burning.

 

* * *

 

Something’s off about Jihoon.

It's typical for him and Seungcheol to bicker—or, more appropriately, for Jihoon to flatly shoot down all of Seungcheol's ideas, point out all the flaws in his opinions, and for Seungcheol to wind up and snap back with a sort of childish glee.

It's Jihoon's job to point out flaws, and since Seungcheol is easily one of the more vocal people in their team, he has a lot of ideas to bring to the table, so it's not unusual that they should be at odds as often as they are.

But for Jihoon to say _nothing_ when Seungcheol fires off a few opinions based on what he's learned—for Jihoon to not even join in when Seungkwan is briefing Seungcheol on all the information they've collected while he was away—is _beyond_ unusual.

There’s also the small matter about Jihoon’s scent and how it makes Seungcheol want to rip off his clothes, lay him on the conference desk and eat him out….

But that’s hardly unusual anymore. Seungcheol’s worked with Jihoon for almost a year now and he’s had that thought more than once.

* * *

 

Seungcheol is _staring_ at him again.

No, not again. _Still_.

Seungcheol’s been staring all afternoon instead of working on the case with the sort of hyper-intense focus Jihoon’s wrath tends to inspire.

Oh, his gaze whips away whenever Jihoon glances over, and he can create the _illusion_ of focus—but Jihoon can  _feel_ Seungcheol's stare burning into him, and it makes him all the more uncomfortable, until he's practically squirming in his seat.

Eventually Seungkwan gets up and stretches his arms over his head, saying he’s going out for lunch and do they want anything.

The second he's gone Seungcheol is out of his seat and crossing the room.

“Seungcheol,” Jihoon says warningly, but Seungcheol cuts him off.

“Just  _let me_ —” And he reaches down and clasps a hand around the side of Jihoon's neck to pull him closer in his chair, leaning down until his nose almost brushes Jihoon's jaw, and draws in a deep breath.

“ _Don’t_!” Jihoon hisses.

“ _God_ ,” Seungcheol breathes, not making a move to step away. “Why do you smell like that?”

His face is hot. His hands are damp and he pants lightly as he says, “I can’t help it. I’m in—”

“I’ve never smelt something so fucking _good_.” Seungcheol interjects

And that ... is not what Jihoon was expecting.

He's numb in his seat as Seungcheol takes in a few more hungry breaths, and his nose is definitely brushing Jihoon's skin now.

Jihoon is frozen still, waiting for him to get it out of his system, like a pet dog smelling a new dog-scent on its owner. But then the tip of Seungcheol's tongue touches his neck, and Jihoon shoves him off.

“Fuck, Cheol. What the hell!”

“Sorry,” says Seungcheol, not looking sorry at all.

“You can't just come over here and lick me like—”

“I couldn't help it,” says Seungcheol. His fingers twitch restlessly like he wants a cigarette or something. “Can I just—”

Jihoon jerks away, glaring.

“I won't touch,” says Seungcheol plaintively, raising his hands. “I just—really need to smell you again.”

“Fine,” Jihoon spits out bluntly. Against all common sense, he feels himself relaxing here, tensing there. His body preparing himself for another assault on his senses.

He submits to Seungcheol's once-over again, the sooner to get this over with.

Seungcheol is thorough this time, starting with his hair, down to his neck again, taking deep, slow breaths. Seungcheol brings both hands up to Jihoon's shoulders, so that Jihoon couldn't pull away even if he wanted to (which, he finds to his surprise, he doesn't really).

His eyes are glazed over hungrily. This is the closest Jihoon's ever come to seeing Seungcheol lose control of himself.

Soon, he can tell sniffing isn't enough, or at least, the bare skin Seungcheol has to work with isn't. He makes a sound of marked frustration, and Jihoon pushes him away.

“Go back to your desk before Seungkwan walks in on this and—starts spreading rumours about us again.” he says.

Seungcheol has to blink a few times before any semblance of clarity returns to his eyes.

“Right,” he says dumbly. “Sorry,” and he leaves, back to his side of the office.

Jihoon gets back to work, not before noting that he's half-hard in his trousers.

He sincerely hopes Seungcheol couldn't smell that kind of receptiveness on him.

When he notices, some-time after Seungkwan returns, that Seungcheol is staring right over his shoulder at him while Seungkwan talks, he gets up hastily and excuses himself to take a break of his own.

This is unbearable. He wants to run for twenty blocks and howl. He wants to curl up on the ground and roll and stretch and rub his scent off on the pavement. He wants to—

—to go back up there, tear his clothes off and pounce Seungcheol—

Except no. Not that last part.

The muscles at the base of his tail ache, he wants so badly to raise it instead of tucking it down his pant leg.

He bums a smoke from a colleague to soothe his rattled nerves, and maybe mask his scent a little bit. The cigarette helps, marginally, on both fronts, but Job be damned, he needs to go out tonight and get laid.

When he returns to the workspace and is met by Seungcheol's predatory stare, he does what he should have done in the first place and grabs their oscillating fan, powered-off in the corner.

He hauls it promptly over to sit in the middle of the room, places it on the side further from his own and switches it on.

Seungcheol's expression is quizzical until Jihoon returns to his own desk, safely downwind, where he has to weigh all his papers down with stray mugs and paperweights.

Then Seungcheol seems to get it, relaxes and gets back to work.

Jihoon just doesn't account, with every rotation of the fan, for  _Seungcheol's_  scent to be blown his way. More importantly, he doesn't anticipate the way it washes over him and leaves him heady and dazed.

Jihoon's never liked the way Seungcheol smells; the heavy werewolf scent that clings to him no matter how recently he's bathed. Now, rich and musky, it does strange things to Jihoon's head.

Seungkwan eventually turns the fan off, grumbling, when it blows papers off his desk one too many times, and neither of them complain.

* * *

 

As soon as Seungkwan leaves for the night, Seungcheol is on Jihoon's side of the office. His voice is breathy and husky and soft behind Jihoon.

“Jihoon, I don't know what's going on, but you smell amazing and I don't think I can—control myself—”

He's leaning closer as he speaks, desperately, and Jihoon gets another noseful of his scent, drowning out all other senses. He shuts his eyes, parts his lips and inhales, drinking in Seungcheol's own pheromone-laden scent.

And _fuck_ , has Seungcheol always smelled so fucking wild and  _irresistible_?

“I think—if you leave now, and call in sick tomorrow—” Seungcheol says, sounding muddled and unsure of himself, and Jihoon realizes Seungcheol is giving him an out.

Which—shit.

One wide hand curves around Jihoon's neck, tilting his head back so that Seungcheol can nose over his pulse point gingerly. His hand trembles around Jihoon's throat. Seungcheol is serious. He literally can't control himself.

Jihoon takes a deep breath and considers that information.

“Call in sick?” he says finally. “I’m in the middle of a case Seungcheol, I’m not going anywhere. Besides—whatever’s happening to me shouldn’t be affecting you.”

“Jihoon.” Seungcheol sounds broken. His nails scrape ever so gently over the soft skin of Jihoon's neck. It seems to take him a considerable effort to let his hand fall away. “Trust me when I say—it does _. It really does_. I am _this_ close to doing something I—I don’t think you’d want me to do."

Jihoon lets his eyes fell shut, lost in the husky purr of Seungcheol’s voice. Lost in  _Seungcheol_ , standing so close that Jihoon can feel the heat of him, smell the hints of smoke and spice on his skin.

Coming to a decision, albeit an insane one, Jihoon tears a piece of paper off the corner of his notepad and scribbles his address down.

“I'm in heat—” Jihoon says, standing abruptly and turning to face Seungcheol.  “Do—do you know what that is?” he pants, and he already knows his face is flushed; even this statement can't make him much redder.

Seungcheol snorts a soft laugh. “Yeah, _figures_. That would explain the raging stiffy I’ve had since you walked into me this morning.”

Jihoon has to make a concentrated effort to keep looking at his face. “Really?”

Seungcheol just grins smugly and nods.

Jihoon holds the scrap of paper out, waiting until Seungcheol accepts it before continuing. “That’s my address—if you want to make yourself _useful_.” He adds, and he sees the moment when Seungcheol gets it.

Jihoon walks out purposefully, paperwork tucked under his arm, the entire line of his spine prickling so that he's almost certain Seungcheol can see the swing of his tail.

He stifles himself forcefully.

* * *

 

That evening finds Jihoon pacing in his living room, rethinking every life decision that has led him to this moment.

Seungcheol got the message alright—but then he called, just to be absolutely clear they were on the same page.

_“You’re inviting me over for sex, right? I just want to be clear on that Jihoon—I’m coming over to fuck you, and not to do more work or review case files.”_

_“What? No. I mean—no to work. I, uh—thought I was being obvious. Why would I invite you over for work?”_

_“Because that’s totally something you would do Jihoon. You love work.”_

_“So? I enjoy my job is that…uugh! Look—the invitation was for sex, not work.”_

_“Hmm, good. I’ll be over in twenty minutes kitten.”_

Seungcheol had accepted the invitation with easy cheer, but Jihoon is apparently so tuned in to Seungcheol’s voice now that he picked up on the heated purr underscoring the casual words.

Seungcheol understood exactly what Jihoon was asking for, and the transparency of his own need had Jihoon hardening in his pants.

Seungcheol should be there any minute. He’d said to give him twenty minutes, and it’s been at least fifteen minutes past that. Giving Jihoon plenty of time to lose his mind from nerves and horniness.

What is he even doing, anyway?

He shouldn’t be doing this. Most shifters avoid sexual entanglements with different species, but here he is getting a booty call from a werewolf.

He really, really shouldn’t be doing this. But, fuck, it’s been so long since Jihoon’s been touched properly. And just thinking about all the ways Seungcheol _can_ touch him has him crawling the walls.

By the time there’s a knock on the door, Jihoon is a jittery wreck. In more ways than one.

He opens the door to find Seungcheol standing there, brimming with a sexual energy Jihoon can smell. He’s looking ridiculously attractive in jeans and a navy shirt. The cotton clings to Seungcheol’s arms and shoulders in a way that’s giving Jihoon ideas. He wants to sink his claws into those shoulders and wrap his tail around those thighs. He wants to drop to his knees and nuzzle into the bulge already growing in Seungcheol’s pants. He wants to slam the door in Seungcheol’s face and hide under the blankets.

He does none of those things. Although it’s a close thing.

“Come in,” he urges, tugging Seungcheol in and quickly shutting the door, even though he’s pretty sure Old Mrs Kim doesn’t give a shit about who he invites to his house.

“Can I, uh, get you anything? A drink? Let me get you a drink. There isn’t much, I’m afraid. Just the basics—beer, wine. I don’t really entertain much these days. I mostly drink alone.”

_What am I doing? Why the fuck am I still talking?_

“Not that I normally drink alone every night or anything. I don’t really drink much at _all_.”

_Shit, did that sound too uptight?_

“But you can, if you want.”

_Shit, did that sound too suggestive?_

“I mean, I don’t mind. Be my guest.”

_Jesus, I’m never getting laid now._

“Not saying that you need my permission. I’m not judging you. Or permitting you. Or  _not_  permitting you to drink.”

_STOP. STOP. Abort! Abort words!_

“I mean—well, you know what I mean. So, do you _know_ what you’d like to drink? If you’d like something, of course. You don’t have to—we could just get naked and start..”

He’s about one sentence away from bashing his head into the wall, just to make himself shut up.

Fortunately, Seungcheol decides that’s a good time to take Jihoon into his arms and captures his mouth in a kiss.

It begins sweet, soft and slow but full of intent. Jihoon is too caught up in his own need to reciprocate. Just holds on tight and lets himself open up for Seungcheol’s lips and tongue.

He’s pliant when Seungcheol uses the grip on his hair to tilt his head further back, dominating the kiss, pushing it to something new.

Seungcheol’s kissing him forcefully now, powerfully, like he's trying to devour Jihoon. And if Jihoon's being honest with himself, he kind of wants to let him.

When they’re both breathless, Seungcheol breaks free and searches Jihoon’s gaze. “Not going to lie—I’ve thought about this a lot.”

“ _Really_?” Jihoon says breathlessly.

Seungcheol bites his lip and nods, then presses his body to Jihoon's, and it hits Jihoon just how fucking _hard_ Seungcheol is. He doesn’t know much about Werewolf cock, but—pressed against his thigh, it feels pretty substantial.

Jihoon makes a soft sound, one he’d deny ever making in the light of day, and clings to Seungcheol’s shirt. He might be on the verge of hyperventilating. But Seungcheol is already carding his fingers through Jihoon’s hair. Soothing him.

“Shh, shh. Here now, let me take care of you kitten.” He murmurs against Jihoon’s lips.

Face burning, Jihoon jerks away and starts heading down the corridor towards the bedroom, tugging his shirt off as he goes with trembling fingers. He’s not sure if it’s nerves or excitement—or maybe Seungcheol just has a way of eliciting both feelings at once. It doesn’t matter, though, because Jihoon has decided that nothing is going to stop him from getting what he wants from this man, once and for all.

Seungcheol follows him to the bedroom at a more sedate pace, casting his own shirt aside and unbuckling his belt. The second he enters the room, he’s grabbing Jihoon by the belt loops and tugging him close, crowding him against the wall.

“You know what I want to see,” he breathes over Jihoon's face. His fingers move deftly over the buckle of Jihoon's belt, his eyes never leaving Jihoon's face; then he unzips him and pushes Jihoon's trousers down, kneeling as he goes, and Jihoon shuts his eyes as he feels his tail come free and curl at the tip.

He's hard and leaking, but it's the tail Seungcheol's hands reach for first, smoothing down the ringed silver-black tabby fur reverentially.

“Stop that,” Jihoon manages to croak at length.

“Why? Doesn’t it feel good?” Seungcheol grins up at him, all bared teeth, his canines tipped and sharp. But he rises, one arm winding around Jihoon's waist to pull them flush again; when he kisses Jihoon, his other hand slides down Jihoon's spine to knead at the base of his tail, which arches of its own traitorous volition.

“Ahhn—Cheol. Sens— _sensitive_.” Jihoon huffs.

His dick is a bar of iron now, and he’s probably going to embarrass himself soon if he doesn’t get some relief.

While Seungcheol’s busy stroking his tail, he lets hands roam over Seungcheol’s torso, tracing every curve of muscle that he’s admired from across the office. Some he could clearly see defined under those over-starched work shirts. Others are new and beautiful under his palms.

God, the _body_ on this man. He’ll feel so big pressing against Jihoon, holding him down.

Jihoon gives off a delighted little shiver and sucks harder on Seungcheol’s tongue. A sort of  _thank you_ for being so fucking hot.

Seungcheol returns the sentiment by running a heavy hand down to Jihoon’s ass and dragging their hips together. Fuck, yes. The hot pressure of Seungcheol’s clothed erection tight against his own… Jihoon can’t help but grind against it, moaning.

He could come from this.

He could so _easily_ come from _just_ this, and he clings to Seungcheol’s shoulders in a desperate attempt at anchoring himself in the storm of yearning raging inside him.

“Ahh—ahh—Don’t stop,” he begs, rolling his hips up against Seungcheol’s, trying to get more friction where he needs it most.

This motion seems to remind Seungcheol of his mission: with a sudden sense of purpose, he turns Jihoon around and pushes him onto the bed, where Jihoon lands with a grunt on his knees.

He shifts himself to the centre of the bed, where he's more comfortable, and glances around in time to see Seungcheol shedding his own pants, his erection springing free, curving up toward his stomach, and _fuck_ —he's huge.

Jihoon didn’t know they could come that _big_. His tail immediately drops flat again, as though to shield his ass.

Seungcheol clucks, noticing this. “Don't worry, kitten,” he murmurs, dropping onto the bed and giving Jihoon's tail a little tug. “Your body wants this. And I'll make you're nice and loose for me before that goes anywhere near you.”

“Stop touching my tail,” Jihoon snaps, trying to save a little face. In answer Seungcheol gives it another tug, then reaches up and tickles right under the base, sending a jolt straight to Jihoon's prick. “ _Hnn_ —fuck.”

Seungcheol groans suddenly and Jihoon hears the snap of a cap of lube. His tail whisks low again, instinctively, but before he can react further Seungcheol is gripping it close to the base and holding it up out of the way while a slicked finger circles Jihoon's hole.

A prickling flush descends over Jihoon—his tail twitches violently in Seungcheol's grip.

“Easy, easy,” Seungcheol says, and slides two fingers in. “Fuck, I knew you’d be nice and tight.”

Jihoon whines, his whole body throbbing hot, his thighs spreading in spite of the ache.

“That's it,” Seungcheol murmurs, working his fingers in deep. “Show yourself off for me. Beautiful kitten.”

The smell of Seungcheol, sex and sweat, batters Jihoon in waves. He’s sweating miserably, though he senses that the fix for his fever might just be hidden in that intoxicating scent. Seungcheol edges another finger inside and Jihoon hisses, clenching, but then Seungcheol releases his tail and reaches instead for his cock. His palm is warm, slightly rough, and Jihoon positively melts into the touch.

“Don't,” he pants, sinking to his elbows. “I'm gonna ...”

Seungcheol squeezes gently, rolling his thumb up under the crown of Jihoon's prick and flicking his wrist, and Jihoon comes hard, all over Seungcheol's hand and the sheets.

His muscles relax a little and he lets his head drop until his forehead is resting on the covers, panting. Then he starts to rock his whole body back into the gentle thrusts of Seungcheol's hand, rubbing his forehead back and forth over the sheets.

He's still hard, maybe harder than he's ever been, and almost instantly desperate to get off again.

“Beautiful,” Seungcheol marvels, eyes riveted to where he’s still fingering Jihoon open. “You smell so good—bet you taste good too. I wonder—" 

He doesn’t give any warning before he crouches down and presses a chaste kiss over Jihoon’s hole. Just a quick brush of lips, a rasp of stubble on sensitive skin, a wet stroke with the tip of his tongue over the small furl of muscle and then it’s already gone. It’s so shockingly intimate that Jihoon can’t stop himself from crying out.

Jihoon wants more of Seungcheol’s mouth, but then those fingers are back between his cheeks and Seungcheol is touching him, petting his hole while murmuring filthy praise. The short press of Seungcheol’s fingertips against him is all the warning Jihoon gets, then Seungcheol slips inside him again, all four fingers in a quick slide until his knuckles are pressing heavily against Jihoon’s rim.

“Oh god, fuck,  _oh yes!”_ Jihoon gasps, reeling with the sudden pressure and unable to keep the noises in. 

Seungcheol draws back and fucks him with deep and relentless strokes, every bump of his knuckles against Jihoon’s oversensitive hole making Jihoon moan and curse because it’s too much and still not enough. It hurts, a sharp and burning ache, but Jihoon still rolls his hips eagerly and fucks himself on Seungcheol’s hand because the glorious feeling of being stretched and filled easily overrides any discomfort he’s feeling. 

“Cheol—please.”

“Jesus,” Seungcheol says hoarsely, watching him; “I can't—” And he withdraws his fingers, pushes Jihoon's lashing tail aside and starts to sink in abruptly, forcing his cockhead in before Jihoon can do much more than mewl pathetically.

He sinks in to the root in one hot slide, and the stretch and pressure is almost more than Jihoon can bear. He's not used to bottoming; being fucked would mean situating a stranger too close to his tail for comfort. The first person who's been here, touched him like this is— _Seungcheol_.

“Seungcheol,” he manages in a breathy, creaking whine, his nose running for no explainable reason.

“That's it,” Seungcheol says again, voice strained as though all of him is being constricted by the tight clench of Jihoon's muscle. “You can take this, Jihoon, I know you can,” and he's stroking Jihoon's spine, awkwardly, but then he reaches and his fingers tangle in a handful of Jihoon's hair and  _oh_. “That's my good boy, you can take it—”

He starts to slide back out, and Jihoon breathes; he punches back in, tugging Jihoon's head back, and the breath leaves Jihoon's lungs in a great whoosh, like the girth of Seungcheol inside him leaves no room for air.

He scrabbles at the sheets for purchase as Seungcheol sets a pace like that, sawing forcibly out and in until Jihoon has relaxed sufficiently around him to make the friction more bearable.

He feels drunk—he's swimming in the smell of Seungcheol, sharp and canine and masculine, and from far away he hears cries in what he can't believe is his voice. He becomes aware that his tail is draped over Seungcheol's shoulder and around the back of his neck, curved tightly as if it's strong enough to cling to him.

The force of Seungcheol's thrusts push him up the bed a little on each stroke until he can reach out and brace against the headboard with one hand.

“There,” Seungcheol growls, actually  _growls_ , a bass rumble that resonates through Jihoon's chest cavity. “I knew you could take this, I'll fuck the heat right out of you kitten—”

He pulls out and Jihoon makes a sharp, broken sound, but in the next instant Seungcheol has flipped him roughly onto his back, hooking one of Jihoon's knees over his arm, and he slides back home with a groan of relief.

Jihoon likes this angle better, especially when Seungcheol drops his head to Jihoon's and pants raggedly against his mouth, and he's all Jihoon can see and smell and feel, it's like he's drowning in Seungcheol and is quite happy to let go.

Seungcheol is pushing up inside him to that itch he can't reach, and nothing has ever felt so achingly satisfying as the drag of his cock inside of him.

Thus far their coupling has been rough, frantic, hurried. Now Seungcheol starts to change the pace—he rocks a little slower, pushes in deeper, as deep as he can, hips flattened to Jihoon's thighs before dragging back out again. It's tormenting.

“Seungcheol,” Jihoon says breathlessly, scratching sharply at his back. “Come on—”

“Just—” And Seungcheol stutters off, burying himself as deep inside Jihoon as he can be, and fits his mouth against Jihoon's in another kiss just as he—oh fuck, he starts to swell; he's swelling inside Jihoon and it's an unexpected hurt.

Jihoon arches his spine off the bed. “What are you—”

“Don't,” Seungcheol says, smothering him with body weight.

His eyes are dark and dazed and he nips along Jihoon's jaw tenderly, like he doesn't know he's folding Jihoon almost in half and stretching him open in painful increasing increments.

It's a sensation Jihoon can't rightly identify: clenched around the very base of Seungcheol's cock, it's only just inside him where Seungcheol is swollen, sealing them together, stretching the rim of his hole painfully taut.

It's only when Jihoon starts to panic, makes a little mewl of pain, afraid Seungcheol is going to tear him apart, that Seungcheol becomes still inside him again, stretching him around an impossible girth.

For a second they're silent apart from harsh panting breaths, and then Jihoon realizes Seungcheol is coming, spilling in long spurts inside him with soft moaning sounds. Inside, he feels hot enough to burn Jihoon.

After a minute or so, Seungcheol stirs himself enough to say, “It's okay,” trying to quell Jihoon's squirms: little abortive movements with each painful pull at his hole, enough to tell him it will hurt a lot more if he tries to part from Seungcheol in earnest.

His fever momentarily quenched, head starting to clear, he feels a flicker of sharp panic again.

“What's happening?” he demands. His voice is ragged, his throat scraped raw.

Rather than answer him, Seungcheol noses under his jaw, pets his tail and then kisses him again.

“Just relax,” he murmurs against Jihoon's lips.

But he can't relax, they're joined and he can't break free, and it hurts and yet the ache is sweet, and he gulps for air, his head spinning as the fever comes raging back. Seungcheol wraps a hand around his cock and starts stroking.

“Relax Jihoonie,” he says again, and Jihoon melts into the sheets all over again. He simply gives himself over, trusting Seungcheol to soothe this raging burn inside him that makes him so desperate to be touched. He can't do anything else.

Seungcheol's cock is angled just so that it rubs against Jihoon's prostate every time he moves, and Seungcheol brings him off twice before Jihoon's erection at last starts to subside.

By the second orgasm, he's half sobbing for breath and insensate.

He barely feels Seungcheol dragging his hand through the mess of come on his chest and then licking it off Jihoon's fingers, one by one.

After that, they lie still, breathing together, and Seungcheol mouths and nips every bit of flesh he can reach; licking up the line of Jihoon's throat, dropping wet kisses over his jaw. Jihoon's skin tingles everywhere Seungcheol touches him.

It's almost thirty minutes after Seungcheol's own climax that they're able to ease gingerly apart from one another.

At that point Seungcheol props Jihoon's thighs up and examines him carefully for damage, while the tip of Jihoon's tail sweeps lazily back and forth over the sheets. He feels like his hole must be gaping, but when Seungcheol presses a finger up inside him, he realizes he's clenched again, holding Seungcheol's come inside, the muscles under his tail too tight to loosen that easily.

He wonders, vaguely, how Seungcheol ever possibly fit in the first place. He doesn't protest at Seungcheol's examination. He's wrung-out and pleasantly sated, like he could sleep for a hundred hours.

Amazingly, his fever's broken. The heat's gone—over.

At last, Seungcheol crawls back up the bed and flops down beside Jihoon, draping an arm over his waist and closing his eyes.

“That was weird,” Jihoon mumbles, fighting to keep his own eyes open. Seungcheol makes an offended sound, and Jihoon says, “I’m not saying it didn’t feel good. Just _weird_.”

Seungcheol is silent, and Jihoon presses, “Does that always happen when you have sex?”

For a minute he doesn't think Seungcheol is going to reply. Then Seungcheol mutters, “Usually I pull out before it can.”

“Then why not this time?”

Seungcheol is quiet again. Asleep, Jihoon presumes.

On reflection, that sounds like the best idea he's heard all day.

* * *

 

Jihoon wakes up in the morning to an incredibly sore ass, a very normal body temperature and an empty bedroom.

This isn't surprising.

The fact that Seungcheol’s waiting for him in the office later, with a breakfast burrito, an iced coffee and a pat on the back, is a surprise.

They don't discuss it, not until they wrap up the case and notify the client does Jihoon approach Seungcheol’s desk. He stands awkwardly watching Seungcheol organise his desk into some semblance of order.

“So—” Jihoon clears his throat. “Thanks for—helping. With the whole _heat_ thing.”

“Not a problem.” Seungcheol says, slumping back in his seat and folding his hands across his chest. “I suppose we should talk about that. If it happens again—”

“It won’t happen again,” Jihoon says quickly. “I’ll plan better next time.”

“Okay. Suit yourself.” Seungcheol says, standing abruptly. He tugs his jacket on with particular vehemence, turning so Jihoon can't see his face.

“Seungcheol,” Jihoon begins as Seungcheol moves past him towards the exit.

Seungcheol stills, his shoulders hunched slightly, and Jihoon finds quite unexpectedly that he's tongue-tied.

He doesn't want to tell Seungcheol that he hasn’t changed his bedsheets since their night together and that he’s jerked off every night to the smell of Seungcheol in his bed, purring in his throat as he comes. He doesn't want to give voice to his suspicion that Seungcheol has been courting him with all those treats, and that just maybe, Jihoon has been harbouring an attraction to him all along too. And he certainly doesn't want to bring to light his newfound knowledge, which took some serious digging to find— _werewolves only tie with their mates_.

And he definitely doesn't want to admit that maybe he liked it. A whole lot.

Instead, what he says, taking pains to sound neutral, is, “What I meant was—I’ll plan it better so it won’t affect work again. But—I was hoping if you’re free next month, you wouldn’t mind… _assisting_ me again.”

Seungcheol turns to face him, one eyebrow raised, his expression otherwise as neutral as Jihoon's tone.

“I don’t see why not,” he says, fishing his keys out of his jacket pocket and tapping them against his thigh. Then he grins, suddenly, that bared-tooth flash of canines Jihoon is used to. “You doing anything tonight? Cause if you’re free—we could start _practicing_ for next month.”

Jihoon's instinct is to scowl. But his tail tip flicks against his leg, and he manages to say, “Felid’s can be very aggressive when approached outside of heat, you know.”

Seungcheol laughs, a throaty rumble that has Jihoon's flesh itching like he's in heat all over again.

“Oh, Kitten,” he growls fondly. “I’m counting on that.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> 1) This fic was originally intended for Jicheol week day 6. But I realised it didn't really fit in with the prompt as it progressed and was taking ages to finish. I dusted it off this week and polished it where I could. It's not perfect, but I hope it will be entertaining.  
> 2)I love the idea of Cheol brining Jihoon food, unknowingly courting him with it, and Jihoon staring back with slit eyed suspicion but eating the food anyway XD  
> 3)Thank you for reading! Feedback always appreciated!


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